Can't Hold On
by A and A Pikachu Prime
Summary: England gets a phone call from a nation he has trouble remembering. He will never forget anyone again. Warnings inside!
1. Fatal Phone Call

WARNINGS: Character death, suicide  
Disclaimer: I own nothing here but the writing itself. The characters belong to the creators/owners of Hetalia.  
Written while watching music videos about Snapped!Canada. Please forgive me, this isn't something I normally write.

* * *

"Who is this?" England asked into the phone, the object resting between his shoulder and head as he made himself something to eat. He could hear a shuddering sob rack the person's body as they sobbed into the receiver.

"_I-I'm C-Canada… Y-you never r-remember me E-England… I r-remember you,"_ the voice answered. England's eyes narrowed slightly as he continued to add ingredients to the mix. Something seemed off in the younger's voice, but it was hard to tell from how distorted it was through the phone. It sounded like he had the phone pressed right against his lips while he spoke. Canada sobbed again through the phone.

"Oh… Canada… Are you alright?"

"_Y-yeah… O-of course I-I'm alright… E-everyone e-expects me to be f-fine and a-alone…"_

"What?" England questioned. He set down the bowl to listen carefully. He heard Canada's careful footsteps as he moved through the empty house. England shivered slightly and he wondered if he should send America, who was over for a few days, to check on the younger.

"_Y-you w-wouldn't know… would you? P-pushed aside b-but valued a-all the same…" _ Canada laughed. It chilled England to the bone. It was hollow to the point nothing could possibly serve to fill it. England rested a hand on the counter and shivered.

"What's gotten into you?" England asked quietly. Canada sobbed again and England could swear he heard something metal tap the wall. The sound repeated. A third time. A fourth. Canada sobbed again. "Do you want me to come over there? I can leave America here and see you if-"

"_D-don't b-bother…"_

"Pardon?"

There was a watery and bitter laugh before Canada replied, _"I d-don't w-want to take you f-from _him._ I-I c-can h-hardly see…"_

"W-what do you mean?" England asked after a pause, his heart racing, his throat tight and his skin icy. He heard Canada start walking again in slow measured steps. There was a crash on Canada's end that made England jump, fear seeping into his heart.

"_Th-they w-wouldn't l-leave me _alone_ e-even though I t-tried to t-tell them… I'm. Not. America. I-it's b-blurry B-Britain… I-I c-can't s-see th-through the b-blood…"_

"Blood?" England repeated almost too quietly to be heard. He heard Canada whimper with a sob and cough, a light groan escaping his throat. England desperately reached for his keys, fumbling blindly for them. The noise covered any sound Canada made.

"_E-England?"_ Canada called quietly over the phone. England stopped at hearing the tone in the other's voice. The childishness of it made him fear more than it perhaps should have. His fingers brushed the keys and slowly his hand wrapped around the cold metal.

"Yes? What is it?" England asked gently.

"_I-I'm s-scared…"_

"W-why are you scared?"

"_W-what I'm g-going to do_," Canada sobbed. England heard a distinct click and his eyes went as wide as they could go. _"I-I'm sorry… T-tell A-America… I-I'll m-miss h-him…"_

"Canada don't do it!" England shouted. He heard America's footsteps rushing towards him. He heard Canada sob one… last… time… before he whispered 'I'm sorry' once more. England was left screaming as he heard a bang; a sickening crack and splatter. The dial tone was the last thing he heard as he dropped to his knees. Within a moment America's arms were around him in an attempt to get him to _just… stop… screaming…_

'_I'm sorry…'_


	2. Guiding Ghost

WARNINGS: Descriptions of wounds/suicide, angst, ghosts  
I have one more chapter for you after this, then I have another story itself planned as a sequel. The sequel will be MUCH brighter...

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It had taken England a long time to stop the tears from falling. It took even longer for his body to stop shaking in distress. During that time, all he could do was cling helplessly to his former colony's shirt that was being soiled by his seemingly never-ending tears. He managed, through his pitiful sobs, to tell America that their young brother, the one they had seen grow from a child into a strong nation, was gone.

America had been devastated and caught off guard. It explained why even after England stopped crying he continued to hold America close. It felt like, to them both, if they moved away the other would disintegrate before their very eyes.

Despite the fact that sitting on England's cold kitchen floor wasn't exactly comfortable, nor was the way America was putting his crushed legs to sleep, America didn't have the heart to make the distressed nation move when he was in such desperate need of comfort. It _hurt_ to see England cry that way, grasping the soft fabric of the younger nation's shirt as if it were his last lifeline. For once, America tried to be as understanding as he could manage.

And so they stayed seated on the floor for hours, until they both ached from being still for so long. By then England was too exhausted to move from crying and America was feeling like his heart was still crumbling away like an old, broken stone wall.

England's tight grip finally began to falter and his eyes drooped closed, a soft sound leaving his throat as he tried to gather the strength to climb to his feet. Carefully America got up, stretching his back out then slipping an arm under England's legs. Before the exhausted man could truly protest America wrapped his other arm around England's back and lifted him with ease.

He stepped over the bowl and spilled contents that had been knocked over when England had reached blindly for his keys. He kept England close as he moved through the house, and by the time he'd reached the older nation's bedroom, England was asleep against his chest. He carefully layed the exhausted man on his bed, pausing for a moment to gently move some of the blond stands of hair out of the closed green eyes before slipping out of the room.

The following morning, England awoke to the scent of pancakes and an almost silent house. He idly wondered why Canada would be at his house cooking breakfast and was just standing up when reality hit him _hard_. He crumpled to his knees, pushing back his emotions until he was simply sitting there shaking. He clutched the cover of his blanket and slowly stood, making his way out the door and down the hall, in search of America.

England found America asleep on the couch, his cheeks stained with tears and his hair as messy as England's own. What he wasn't expecting was to find France in his kitchen, flipping the last few pancakes before sliding them off his spatula onto an already tall stack.

England coughed lightly, making the other nation nearly drop the plate. Thankfully, he managed to recover.

"_A-Angleterre_?" France stuttered in surprise. He set the plate down and pulled England into a hug. "_Amérique_ called me last night… He told me… Oh, no, please, _Angleterre_, do not cry. Shh, please don't cry."

**A&A**

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" America asked a few hours later, looking out the window of his car. Once they had eaten, the three countries had decided to head over to the United States, and then take his car for a drive down to the Canada's house. America wanted to see his brother one last time, and France wanted to see if Kumajiro was still alive, or if the polar bear had perished along with Canada. Not one of them were sure they wanted to see the damage, but they found themselves standing outside of the house Canada had called home.

"_Non_, but we're here."

"Alright," America said on a sigh, stepping up to the door once he had left his car. His stomach churned when he reached for the handle, seeing blood on the golden metal. Instead of using the handle he slammed his hip against the door. He stumbled forward for a moment as he entered but managed to keep his balance. He heard the rest of his 'family' enter after him. He glanced over his shoulder when he caught a glimpse of England stumbling and France steadying the island nation.

"England, maybe you should wait outside…" the Frenchman suggested gently. He sighed when his brother shook his head. They could all be so stubborn, he knew that fact greatly about himself, but this time they could all feel that England was making a mistake.

Even England could feel it as he caught sight of blood on the walls where Canada had obviously stumbled and pressed his palms against the wall for balance. The Northern country's jacket was discarded not far from the door, the white fur along the collar no longer pristine. France stooped down to gather the soft cloth into his arms as he passed it, neatly folding it to hide the stains of blood that made him regret eating at all.

As the three continued to move, they found that Canada had apparently fallen on more than once before that fatal phone call. Blood was smeared across the wooden flooring along with claw marks from Kumajiro.

England could almost see a 'ghost' of Canada stumbling along can tripping on his broken shoe, falling flat on his face and laying there for a minute before gathering his strength and getting back up with Kumajiro worriedly pacing around his feet. He followed the 'ghost' through the house, to where Canada had found the gun, paused to debate it, before fumbling for the phone, trying to tend to his wounds as he did so. His next stop was the base where the phone normally rested to pick it up, dialing England's number with slick hands as he tightened his grip on the gun.

England watched the fading image of the other nation break down just before he could almost hear himself ask in confusion who was calling him late at night. His heart sunk as Canada tried to fight the tears at being forgotten yet again. He watched the broken nation start to walk down the hall, feeling his own footsteps slow as he remembered what he would soon come across, mildly aware of the fact France and America were watching him with worried eyes. But he didn't tear his gaze away from the image he could only see.

He listened to Canada's hollow laugh though this time he only felt sinking dread instead of a cold chill. He watched Canada tap the end of the gun against the wall once. Twice. Again. And a last time. He saw Canada's lip curl into a bitter snarl when he objected to England's offer of going to his house. Canada began walking again.

England traced the other's footsteps and heard the same crash but dulled from the fact the rest of the house was truly still. His eyes widened when he saw that it had been Canada roughly shooing Kumajiro who then scurried off and knocked over a table by accident. France righted it when England glanced at it in terror.

Shivering and ill, England willed himself to follow Canada again. The other country suddenly leaned against the wall in agony with a soft whimper, cough, and groan. England had to remind himself that he was simply seeing things so he wouldn't rush to the side of something that was only an image his mind was creating. It left a prickling sick feeling that stuck in his throat as he watched Canada futilely attempt to wipe the blood away that was running onto his glasses from a wound to the head.

Canada pushed on, moving into another room and his voice began to fade, making England try to force away the image. Even as he pulled France to a stop when the older nation tried to continue, he strained to hear it. And hear it he did; the click of the safety being released and the gun being cocked. Tears choked him as he pushed himself to turn the corner.

'_I-I'm sorry… T-tell A-America… I-I'll m-miss h-him…'_

'_Canada don't do it!' _he heard himself scream through the phone just as he entered the room. His eyes fell on the ghost as he pulled the trigger, blood splattered across the white walls and he fell… landing in the exact same position as the man before him.

"Canada!" America's voice rang out, though England heard not a word. Instead he rushed over on rubber legs. He dropped to his knees beside the fallen form of their youngest brother, pulling the boy into his arms. His body shuddered at the way Canada's head lolled limply. The Canadian's blue eyes were mostly opened; staring blankly at some unknown point in the distance. His deathly pale skin was coated in red along with his hair.

There was blood everywhere…

And the gun was still in Canada's hand, his flag in his other.

Kumajiro mourning cried out Canada's name and shoved the nation's leg. He was coated in blood himself, from the gash that ran across his owner's temple which was rubbed against the white fur when Kumajiro made an attempt to stop the bleeding. Canada's skin was stained with red and purple from deep bruises along his cheeks, arms, and ankles. His eyes were marred by darker bruises from getting hit.

"Kumajiro, come away from him," France's sad voice broke through England's thoughts as the Frenchman carefully scooped up the polar bear who in turn squirmed helplessly to get away. France glanced at England once he felt the Briton's gaze rise to his face. All he could do was offer an attempt at a reassuring, kind smile that was ruined by the tears running down his cheeks.

Something just behind France made England's eyes widen slightly, gently allowing America to take his place before rising. He saw France speak but did not hear him, for his attention was elsewhere. He could have sworn he saw Canada's ghost give a gentle smile and heard the Canadian's soft voice.

'_Tell France… I'll miss him…'_


	3. Grieving Nations

Last chapter. I'll post the beginning of the sequel soon. Thank you for sticking with me this long!

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The room was almost silent, aside from the nervous shifting of a few of the nations present in the room. Axis and Ally, neutral and not, the world was gathered in one room. They had been called together by England. From his tone alone, it was clear there was no backing out or not attending.

The tense, heavy air of the room pressed down on each, and the sound of Italy shifting in his chair was easily heard. They were waiting for America, England and France to arrive, since they were the only ones missing. Germany met Japan's eyes before looking to the other nations around them, feeling more than a little worried.

"Germany?" Italy whispered.

"What?"

"What's going on?"

"I don't know," Germany responded quietly. As they both fell silent, voices reached the room from the hall just before the three missing nations entered the room. The others exchanged looks at the expressions of the three.

America was fiddling with his glasses, his eyes glassy and his face pale. A pained frown marred his features as he took deep, steady breaths to keep calm. France had tears on his cheeks, wringing a crumpled cloth in his hands as he stared at the floor. His hair was a mess, fluffy and out of control. But the one that looked the worst was England. The Englishman was shaking badly, his eyes pained and filled to the brim with tears. His skin was almost transparent from how pale he was and his hair was flatly pressed to his face. He held a white bear in his arms, seeming to try to take comfort from it with how it was pressed against his lips. Something was very wrong, they all could tell.

"S-something terrible has happened!" France said in a shaking tone, tightening his grip on what he held. He raised it to his cheek and his eyes closed. The other nations were silent. The three before them stayed near the door and seemed to try to gather the strength to speak, as if telling the others would make it more real. A few of the nations looked at what each was holding to try to place them simply because the items seemed to be extremely important.

After a long, harsh pause, Germany spoke up.

"What's happened?"

"C-Canada is d-dead."

The room was silent once more. Few knew who Canada even was. But to hear a nation was dead, and so suddenly, was jarring. Those that did know Canada knew him as America's younger brother, and a former British colony. Almost no one knew the person behind the name. But it was clear that the three standing before them had known the quiet nation well.

England choked back a sob as he gently tightened his grip on the bear. It was then that several nations realized what both England and France were holding. Kumajiro was carefully cradled in England's arms, nosing the trembling nation in a show of kind comfort. Splatters of red stained the polar bear's snow white coat. The practically destroyed cloth in France's hand was a large Canadian flag, bunched up so tightly it was hard to tell where the red was compared to the white. It was also stained with blood that showed when France finally flattened it out so the pattern could be seen. America reached into his pocket and pulled something out. He layed it on the front of the table, making many freeze or shift away. It was a gun. America's hand was bloody as he looked around, silent tears gliding along the skin of his cheeks.

"How…?" a voice questioned. England sobbed and his expression became one of outright agony. His body shuddered as he fell to his knees.

"He… s-shot himself… Once to the temple," France replied softly, pressing a finger to where Canada had positioned the gun. "_Il est parti…"_

"Why…?" England sobbed harshly, nuzzling his face into Kumajiro's fur. His voice became a cry of misery as he broke down. He was struggling to cope with the permanent loss of one of his ex-colonies. It was always his greatest fear to lose them forever. "Canada, _why_? How could you?!"

"He… called England," America started seriously, looking around; "At the end of the call… my brother pulled the trigger."

"On the phone with England?" Germany asked in alarm, sitting forward, his eyes on England in concern and sympathy. The room was silent aside from England's desperate, miserable sobs. France and America nodded in time with each other, France lifting the bloodied Canadian flag to his face again.

Mumbles of apologies then filled the room, each aware of the pain the three were going through. If only they had realized… If only they had noticed… Maybe Canada would have made a different decision. But now, all it could be is, _'what if?'_ for Canada was dead.

Italy stood slowly from his place beside Germany, approaching the distraught nations. He put a hand on America's arm, without a word or smile. His touch lingered, and he met America's eyes with a mild and gentle expression. He moved past and touched France's hand that was still clamped around the flag still. His hand tightened slightly over France's in a silent show of support. He stopped in front of England, kneeling to wrap his arms gently around the younger nation. He could feel England sob and shudder, but the island didn't push him away.

Kumajiro wiggled out of England's arms, concerned for the nation but uncomfortable with being crushed. He made his way lazily over to America since the little polar bear wished to comfort his late owner's friends. He looked over his shoulder as he was picked up to see England wrap his arms around Italy since his arms were freed.

Italy simply held England without a word, his grip gentle but tight enough to let the other know he was cared for. All England could do was cry. And Italy was more than willing to just kneel there to comfort the distraught nation.

A soft sound caught Italy's attention, making him look to the door. He had never been a real believer of ghosts, but to find Canada standing the in the doorway made him believe it was possible to see them. He glanced around the room and found the eyes of the other nations on one of the three damaged nations, not the doorway. Canada approached, kneeling beside England. He smiled faintly at Italy and for a moment before his soft voice practically sounded in Italy's ear.

'_Tell England… I'll miss him a lot…'_


End file.
